


Castles of Sand and Stars

by Anonymous



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors
Genre: Daydreaming, Fluff, Incest, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 13:42:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Gratuitous Fulgrim/Ferrus set during the Great Crusade





	Castles of Sand and Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Features a fair amount of skirting around smut, but not enough lewd stuff to qualify for NSFW, I reckon. Introspection, dialogue, and lots and lots of smoop. Look, okay, they needed it. _I_ needed it.

The hands which gave Ferrus his name shone like silver. Fulgrim loved them so. Of course, he loved everything about Ferrus -- he was as imperfectly perfect as they came -- but his hands especially.

When it was the two of them laying side-by-side, he curled himself against the other, closing his eyes so as to better listen to his brother's pulse. In and out and in and out, paired with the steady beat of his pulse. With some concentration, he could match his own breathing with that of Ferrus', though the heartrate still escaped him. That was the crux of their relationship: so close, yet not quite.

Ferrus loved him; Fulgrim was certain of that. And he treasured that intangible sensation along with the tangible closeness which followed. The question remained though: how much? It had been easy to lay claim to Ferrus' heart when their brothers were still being found. When they had spent years glued at the waist, he had not once caught Ferrus' gaze straying. But now that the Crusade was in full-force and their legions whole solar systems apart, Fulgrim could confess, to himself at least, that he found the time and distance daunting.

His brothers would laugh at his concerns, those that did not shrug them off. Ferrus would be first among them. The idea of millions of miles and decades was nothing to the other, but then, he had chosen to isolate himself in the steppes of Medusa.

Fulgrim found himself returning time and again to this mythical part of his brother's past, when their father had not yet found him. It was a very Ferrus thing to do, holing himself away from everyone else, and he couldn't imagine himself -- or indeed, any of their kin -- doing the same. The voluntary extended isolation was likely how he managed the long draughts without; whereas Fulgrim would practically tackle him to the floor once the doors were closed, Ferrus remained restrained. Affectionate, yes, but never once overflowing with nostalgia and need.

And here they were again, the two of them aboard the Third Legion's flagship. The decorators had gone all-out in welcoming the Iron Hands Primarch but of course Ferrus noticed none of it. Their last meeting had been five and a half years ago in the Ersamine System and both of them had suffered burns from sneaking off to the forge.

Thinking of that reunion filled him with the urge to wake the other. They had so few days and hours with each other, yet Ferrus would waste them on sleeping? His own pettiness was soundly squashed the moment he pulled away, orienting himself to the sight of the other, slumbering like a two hundred year old babe.

Only Ferrus. Only Ferrus with his craggish features and ever-serious expressions, with his immaculate encased hands and his private competitive streak, only Ferrus could send him, the Pheonix, into such a state -- and by no action of own to boot! Fulgrim found himself smiling and shaking his head wryly. He wanted nothing more than to kiss the other.

As if sensing his desire (though more likely noticing Fulgrim's absence), Ferrus stirred. Fulgrim watched, as mesmerized as their first meeting, as his brother cracked open one eye and then the other, blinking several times as if he too couldn't believe Fulgrim was before him.

Fulgrim smiled, reaching over to clasp his brother's hand. His grasp would have been enough to throttle a mortal, but with another Primarch, it was like joining with a piece of himself. Ferrus' hand was warm, warmer than his own even, and there was a fleshlike quality to it that its metallic sheen failed to convey. Ferrus watched, fully awake, as Fulgrim lifted his hand and planted a kiss on each finger. He then kissed each knuckle before twining their fingers and clasping on tight.

"More Chemosian customs?" he asked as Fulgrim crawled back over for a kiss.

"Something like that," Fulgrim answered, kissing him. Ferrus hadn't bothered dressing himself -- no doubt pre-empting another round -- and Fulgrim wore only a dressing robe. He straddled his brother, pressing their noses and then mouths together, while Ferrus shifted to make room for him.

There were no more words after that and the room was heavy with the sound of hurried breaths and breathless moans. Before meeting Ferrus, he had never conceived of such easy intimacy. They alternated between familiar laxness and the desperate scrabblings of a fanatic. This was a body he knew as well as his own and, at times, he suspected he knew this even better than his own.

Though their stamina was enough to make men flush, it ended all too soon for Fulgrim's liking. Soon they were curled up against one another and he contented himself with stroking Ferrus' cheek as the other would inevitably drifted off to the sleep.

Ferrus chuckled instead, turning to face him.

"Do you find me so distant, brother?" he asked.

"What kind of question is that," Fulgrim retorted, "When you're close enough for me to throttle?"

"Tell me what's on your mind then. I have never been blind to your stewing."

"You'll laugh at me."

"Perhaps," Ferrus shrugged, "But tell me anyways."

Fulgrim sighed, propping himself up on an elbow. "I can deny you nothing, my heart." Ferrus raised an eyebrow but said nothing, so Fulgrim took a breath of his own and plodded ahead, "I was thinking of building a palace. Somewhere to go to when this is all over."

"The Crusade, you mean?"

"Yes."

"You've hundreds of palaces across the galaxy," Ferrus pointed out, "What's wrong with them?"

"Those I built for myself. This one, well," Fulgrim found himself looking away as he reached the headiest part of his confession, "This one is for you and your men."

Fulgrim could feel his own ears heating up in the silence that followed. He waited for the uproarious laughter and when it failed to come, he looked over at Ferrus, only to see his brother wearing a similarly flustered expression. It looked as fitting as a bolter on a dreadnought, but it was there all the same, bleeding from his cheeks to his neck and nose.

"The Crusade is still far from over," Ferrus said at last. And because it was not a 'no', Fulgrim's heart practically leapt to his throat.

"I know," was all the answer he could manage.

"And I doubt Medusa has enough material for a palace of that size."

"Chemos doesn't either."

"So then--?"

"Somewhere else," Fulgrim pressed, and what he meant to say was: 'anywhere else'. "Somewhere neither here nor there."

Ferrus took his hand, running the pad of his thumb across the ridges of Fulgrim's knuckles. It was how Medusans made promises, Fulgrim knew. Ferrus was the one to close the distance between them, kissing him soft and slow, and when he pulled away, it was as if he was the one who had just bared his heart in full.

"Alright," he conceded, voice still gruff around the edges, "But none of this," and here, he gestured with his free hand to the gilded ornaments and centerpieces scattered about their current room, "dangling fire hazard business, alright?"

Fulgrim laughed, pulling his hand away to throw his arms about the other, bringing him in for an embrace. "Someday, Gorgon, I will teach you to enjoy the finer things," he murmured, sealing his own end of the bargain with a kiss.


End file.
